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who was sipping her tea. “It seems you already slaughtered your pig, Mrs. Smith.”
    “Which is why we need another one, sir.”
    Dotty cleared her throat. “It ain’t our pig, Mr. Marco. We don’t have space for one. This piece came from the vicarage in exchange for some of our honey.”
    “You have hives?”
    “Yes, we do,” Mrs. Smith answered him. “My aunt has a way with bees.”
    “I’ve told you before, Amelia, if you take the time to go and speak to them every day, they’ll never harm you and give you all the honey you could ever need.”
    “They certainly do that. We are indeed blessed.”
    Aunt Betty handed Marcus a jar of yellow pickle. “Have some of this with your ham. It is quite excellent.”
    After he enjoyed a second cup of coffee, Marco looked across the table to Mrs. Smith. “How may I help you today, ma’am? I noticed from my window that there is a woodpile. Do you need wood for the fires?”
    She worried her lower lip and studied him carefully. “Are you quite certain that you wish to engage in such a physical task at this point, sir? I am concerned that you will make yourself ill again.”
    He tried not to let her concern bother him. “If the task proves beyond me I can always stop and do something more restful.”
    “That is true, but I find that most men will not admit defeat even when it is obvious that they cannot complete a task.”
    He met her gaze. “I have no desire to end up back in bed again, Mrs. Smith. You have done quite enough for me already. I swear I will be prudent and stop if I feel tired.”
    “Then after breakfast Dotty will show you where we keep the saw and axe.” She stood up and pushed in her chair. “I have to go into the village and speak to Mrs. Sherringham about the flowers for the church on Sunday.”
    She wore a simple patterned muslin gown in blue and her brown hair was braided into a coronet on the back of her head, which made her neck look long and elegant. She wasn’t the sort of woman to attract much notice in a crowd, but her smile was warm, and the intelligence of her gaze made him want to keep looking at her.
    Dotty started clearing the breakfast table. Marco got up to help while Aunt Betty chattered away about all the tasks she intended to accomplish that morning. It was such a peaceful scene that he wanted to pinch himself to see if he was still dreaming. Mrs. Smith returned wearing her straw bonnet and shawl. She carried a large basket over her arm.
    “I won’t be long. Is there anything we need in the village, Dotty?”
    “I don’t think so, ma’am. The girl from the squire’s dairy is bringing us fresh butter and milk later, and I’ll go and search for some eggs.”
    “Do you not require an escort, Mrs. Smith?” Marco asked.
    She curtsied to him. “I think I’ll be quite safe, but I appreciate your concern.”
    “But—”
    She held his gaze. “I’ll be fine. It’s quite safe here, Marco, I assure you.”
    He took a step back. “I suppose it is.”
    Dotty piled the last of the dishes in the sink and wiped her hands on her apron. “Come on, Mr. Marco. I’ll show you where the axe and saw are kept.”
    There had been no reply from Mr. Stultz waiting at the post office, but Amelia collected a letter for Aunt Betty and a parcel of narrow worked lace that she’d ordered through the milliner. As she walked back down the lane toward Dove Cottage, she glanced up at the sky where some rather black clouds were gathering out at sea and she quickened her pace.
    The first drops of rain hit her as she unlatched the gate, and she went around the back of the house to avoid walking mud into the front parlor. She paused at the back door, aware of a rhythmic pounding coming from the rear of the garden. Leaving her basket against the back door, she set off down the path to find Marco chopping wood. He’d discarded his shirt and had his scarred back to her, the slight sheen of sweat now highlighted by the addition of the raindrops.
    He